


Breaking Wards

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-15
Updated: 2009-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: It's been eight years since Harry Potter triumphed over Lord Voldemort. But all was not well. Not everyone had reason to rejoice and not even Harry Potter was immune to the post war depression. When his job forces him to cross paths with Pansy Parkinson, will he be able to see the light?Draco/Pansy, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Pansy





	Breaking Wards

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

This story is probably the darkest I ever attempted - and I didn't do it alone! I wrote it together with Pronunciation_Hermy_1 as a birthday present to a good friend of ours. 

Thanks to queenb23 for a wonderful beta job! 

* * *

Harry Potter held a tight grip on his wand, which was concealed in a special pocket within his Muggle overcoat. For five weeks now he had been on this undercover mission. Five weeks he had been sharing a house with Pansy Parkinson. He scowled at the thought of going back to her.

At first, he had jumped at the job, placing a trusted employee to oversee the day-to-day operations and going back into the field himself. After all, how often did an opportunity like that present itself?

Some people argued that he was too emotionally involved in the case, but he dismissed them all. His status as Harry Potter, The Man Who Triumphed, was worth something at last. He got his way.

Exactly six weeks ago, a frightened Pansy approached one of his staff. She had heard that Blaise Zabini was back in the country, and with him, her former boyfriend and lover, Draco Malfoy. Both men had evaded capture and quite obviously fled the country. In their absence, they had been sentenced to life in Azkaban.. 

Pansy Parkinson had subsequently been given protection as she had served as witness in the case. Now, she was back on 24-hour watch as her partaking in the trial placed her into immediate danger.

Harry took it upon himself to be her bodyguard. Not because he had any personal feelings towards her, but because he needed to be the one to confront Malfoy. He needed to make sure that Malfoy paid for his role in Ginny’s death.

He gripped his wand tighter as he balled his free hand into a fist. Nothing would ever be able to take away the pain of witnessing her last hours. His gut clenched at the memory of being bound, helplessly, as he watched each of them take his turn with her. The memories of being unable to move, unable to look away, unable to speak or act in any way; the inhumanity of having to watch his fiancée tortured so viciously killed him a little bit more with each passing day.

As he watched one of her assaulters cast the Killing Curse on her already limp body, he had nearly gone insane at not even being able to tell her that he loved her one last time. He had failed her, and she had died while he could do nothing more than watch it happen.

The only thing that kept him focused was his last conscious thought of that dreadful night: Malfoy’s hood dislodging and revealing him as the one who cast the final blow. He was the one who took Harry’s soul mate from him.

He’d be damned if he let this opportunity to get his hands on Malfoy pass. Malfoy would know the meaning of what Harry had gone through. Malfoy would _wish_ he was dead when Harry was through with him.

With quick, light steps he made it the rest of his way to Pansy’s London flat, easily passing through the wards and putting them back in place as he went. He opened his mouth to make his presence known but stopped himself. She was asleep on the couch, an open book about to slide off her chest.

Harry paused in the doorway, watching as she slept, a quiet anger seeping into his heart. How dare she, the bitch, lie there sleeping so peacefully? Pansy, who had given herself willingly to one of the greatest monsters Harry had ever known. It should have been Ginny lying there; they should have been together, but _he_ had fucked it all to hell. 

A man with a destiny, Harry hadn’t even known if he would survive. From the time he learned the truth of his heritage until the moment he had defeated Voldemort, he lived as a man whose days were numbered. The one thing, the one person who had made it all worthwhile, had been taken from him. How foolish he had been to imagine that defeating Voldemort would be the end. How naïve he had been to believe that his most loyal supporters would not have sought revenge.

Exhausted, weary in both mind and body, he had been lax. Finally, he had imagined he could sleep, a true sleep, deep and rejuvenating. How stupid he had been. Taken by surprise, wandless and defenceless, he had left them vulnerable, and for his mistake, Ginny had paid the highest cost. 

He found himself standing above Pansy, unaware of having even crossed the room, fury radiating from his very core as he stared down at her. This slag, this common _whore_ he was now to protect was just as much to blame as he. For where was she when Malfoy had come for his Ginny? Where was Pansy when the man she claimed to have loved for so long was taking from Harry what was most precious? Pansy was on her own side; wherever and whoever could keep her safe was who she aligned herself with. Harry didn’t buy for a minute that she wouldn’t go back to Malfoy if the timing seemed right. 

That’s what whores did. 

_‘Let it go,’_ Molly had said, _‘We all miss her, dear.’_ But, Harry could not let it go. Everything he ever cared about had been ripped from his life from the time he was a baby. He wasn’t about to lie down and let them get away with this.

_‘Make them pay,’_ Ron had pleaded with him. _‘Make them pay for what they did to my baby sister.’_ And so he would. Harry Potter was going to make them pay. 

Her eyes fluttered open as he looked down at her- a peaceful inquisitiveness lighting her eyes. 

“Harry? What’s going on? I didn’t hear you come in.” She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, her blouse riding up and exposing the porcelain cream of her torso. It sickened him. How dare she live when his Ginny had died. He wanted to make Malfoy pay, but he wanted her to pay too. They would _all_ pay.

Relaxing back into the couch, she laid her head against the pillows, the hollow of her throat capturing his attention. How easy it would be to hurt her, and he could. He was Harry Potter _, the best fucking Auror the ministry had seen in years_ , he thought with anger- bitter and heartbroken with nothing left to lose was a cold and dangerous combination- he was ruthless.

But no, for as inhumane as Malfoy had been, even he had a heart, and the one who had his heart was Pansy. He was venturing back to London, and Harry had a good idea that it was for Pansy alone. Rather conveniently, he had decided, it was the perfect time to exact his revenge. Malfoy would know pain as Harry had; he was going to ensure it. 

“Harry?” Pansy’s voice sounded hesitant, almost frightened. He hadn’t realised until then that he had been staring at her, his wand still tight in his hand, letting his hatred fill him, lost in thoughts of revenge.

“Get up,” he barked abruptly and turned away from her. “Dinner’s ready,” he added just as tersely and walked into the small kitchen to set out the takeaway he had brought. Yes, he could get his revenge on her at any time, but he’d never forgive himself for losing the chance to catch Malfoy first.

“Cheerful as ever, I see,” Pansy replied more to herself than him and swung her legs off the couch. She joined him in the kitchen and watched him move about, not bothering to help.

Harry almost dropped the plates when Pansy stretched again, languidly, arching her back and exposing the creamy skin and her small tattoo just above the waistline of her trousers. He felt his gaze drop to it, like it had many times before. It was a small tattoo which needed to be seen up close in order to make it out, and it irked him that he didn’t quite know what it was.

“Fancy a closer look?” Pansy smirked at him knowingly and decidedly pulled her shirt back down. With her arms crossed in front of her, she leaned against the door frame.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Parkinson,” Harry snapped and sat down to eat. Merlin, he hated her. She was pug-faced as ever, too full of herself, and trying to be too friendly for his liking. He hated her ability to get to him when not many people could. Most of all, he hated his body for reacting to her. His head found her revolting, yet his body betrayed him, telling him otherwise. It made him sick.

Pansy shrugged her shoulders and took a seat opposite him. He didn’t spare a glance in her direction and wouldn’t have had she not insisted on more conversation.

“Don’t you think it’s time you called me Pansy?” 

“No.”

“You’re too tense, _Harry.”_ She put down her fork and regarded him in a mock-thoughtful manner. “Know what you need?” she asked, leaning forward conspiratorially, drawing his eyes towards her cleavage.

“I need you to shut up so I can eat my dinner in peace,” he snapped irritably, pulling his eyes away from her smooth curves. His anger was fuelled even more when she had the audacity to laugh in his face. Throwing his fork on the table, he slammed his fist down on the wood. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath when he felt the pain course through him. He had hit the old table too hard and a splinter had lodged itself in his wand hand.

Pansy looked up at his outburst, watching as he struggled to point his wand at the splinter in his hand. He was grumbling and cursing under his breath as he tried to aim it correctly, his face reddening as he struggled.

“I can help if you-”

“Shut up.”

He let out a frustrated growl when he saw Pansy roll her eyes at him. He knew he had changed, that he wasn’t the same Harry Potter he had been back at Hogwarts. He’d always disliked Pansy but had never been outright cruel to her; it wasn’t what The Boy Who Lived did. But Malfoy had crushed what spirit Voldemort had left intact in The Boy Who Lived, and The Man Who Triumphed was a cold shell of his former self, seemingly impervious. And yet for some reason, despite his cruelties, Pansy wanted to help him. And not just with the stupid splinter. No, she also seemed to want to know him as a friend.

“Accio Splint-”

Jumping up from her seat, she batted his wand from his hand before he could finish speaking. “Are you daft, Harry? You’ll rip your hand to shreds doing it like that, you fool. Give me your hand, and let me do it.” 

Harry balled his fist tightly, pulling it from her grasp. 

“Harry, please,” she whispered, and when he looked up, she was staring him in the eyes, far too close, the honesty of sweet sincerity evident in her eyes. Extending his arm back toward her, he slowly unfurled his fist, allowing her access to his palm, and wondering all the while _why_. 

Pansy came to stand next to his shoulder, bending over the table to peer down at his palm. Her breath was warm and heavy on his hand as her hair fell over her shoulders, tickling his forearm as she inspected his palm. He found his gaze travelling the length of her and was furious with himself for being unable to look away.

“This might hurt a bit.” She spoke quietly, concentration and something oddly unfamiliar in her voice as well. Was that concern? 

He jumped, ripping his hand away from her and knocking his chair out from behind him as he leapt to his feet. “That _hurt_ , Parkinson!” he roared as he looked down at his hand. 

“And yet, it’s out, _Harry,”_ she spat, glaring at him as she spoke. “You know, you are _the_ most unappreciative arsehole I have _ever_ had the displeasure of spending time with. You prance around _my_ house as if you were some god, but I’ll tell you something,. You are-”

“Go ahead and finish that sentence, _Parkinson,_ ” Harry growled. He was infuriated now and completely confounded as to why she could anger him so. He stalked closer to her, watching as her brows rose in surprise. She did not back up, did not move as he towered over her, glaring down into her face, his features twisted in anger. And it enraged him all the more. Taking her wrist, he shoved her down into the chair, knowing his grip was far too tight, but not caring as she refused to show him how much it hurt. “I’d be glad to leave here and let Malfoy have you at any time. _You_ came to _us_ if I might remind you, and while you’re in my care, you’re going to follow my rules, like it or not. Just say the word, Parkinson, and I will leave you so that Malfoy can have his _whore_ back at any time.”

Her face fell at this, and he realized all at once how very close he was standing to her. Dropping her arm, Harry backed away quickly, feeling, for the first time in years, something that reminded him distinctly of remorse. 

“Look, Parkinson…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. 

“Don’t bother, Potter.” She stood, brushing her palms along the thighs of her trousers. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” And with that, she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Harry to wonder what exactly had just happened.

___________________________

It had been two and a half months since Harry had first come to stay with Pansy Parkinson in her home. It had been five weeks since he had lost control that day in the kitchen and something inside him had snapped. Harry had never cared before about the way he treated his charges. He was good at his job, and it was because he didn’t care. Something in Pansy’s eyes had changed that day though, and his reaction to it had frightened him. Their relationship had changed, and while he couldn’t put his finger on it, he knew that _something_ was different. 

They had spent the first three weeks after that day avoiding each other, and then slowly, they had become almost used to each other- he passing the milk in the morning for her coffee, and she saving his favourite sections of the paper to read. He didn’t understand what was going on, and now, as he walked back to her home from the market, he realized that half of the contents of his bag were things he would never eat.

He told himself firmly that he had only bought those things because she’d just kick up a fuss if her breakfast cereal was any other or the milk wasn’t low fat. She was definitely easier to deal with when he didn’t have the added problems of her moodiness as well. As it was, she seemed to have ‘that time of the month’ ever since he had moved in with her. He sighed, glad that he had remembered to buy more Firewhiskey.

Moments later, he found himself back in the flat, unpacking the groceries. He skirted Pansy with ease as they moved around each other, him storing the goods away, her cooking dinner. It was a well-practised routine by now.

“Did you remember the asparagus?” she asked while stirring one of the pots on the hob. He handed her the packet without saying anything in return. 

“Thank you.” He grunted in reply and she sighed at his indifferent behaviour.

When he had finished putting all the food away, he sat down and summoned a cup of coffee. As he sipped it, he found his eyes were drawn to her, and for a few moments he simply sat there, mesmerised by her seemingly effortless movements. She certainly was in control, waving her wand with much skill, and multi-tasking between the cooking, spell-cleaning, some laundry and singing to the wireless. Horrified, he snapped himself out of it.

“Stop!”

She started at his sudden outburst and swirled around to glare at him.

“Your singing gives me a headache,” he commented wryly and simply continued drinking his coffee.

“Oh, that’s nice. So my singing gives you a headache! Great! The great Harry Potter gets a headache from my singing. Well boo hoo, Potter. What next? You going to tell me again that I’m not worth anything and you’re in charge and what not? The alpha dog, aren’t you? It’s my bloody house and I can bloody well sing as much and as loud as I want to. If you don’t like it, GO SOMEWHERE ELSE and don’t come back until you managed to pull your head out of your arse!”

She turned away from him and her wand movements became a lot more abrupt as she took up her tasks again. She sang just a little bit louder. Harry barely stopped himself from shouting back at her, remembering the last time he had lost his patience. Instead, he got up and took a glass and the Firewhiskey. On his way out of the kitchen, he cast a _Silencio_ on her. He’d be damned if she controlled his life even more. He was in charge.

He’d just poured the first glass of Firewhisky when Pansy stormed into the living room, shaking with rage. He sat back, relaxing into the couch and raising an eyebrow. 

“What the fuck, Potter?” Her eyes flashed and she marched right up to him, pressing her wand to his chest. He gave no sign of concern when she snarled, “Don’t you ever do that again. Don’t you _dare_ to use magic against me in such a manner. You may officially be The Boy Who Lived or The Man Who Triumphed, but to me you’re nothing more than The Prat Who Was Lucky.”

Harry slapped her wand away from him and jumped up to stand right in front of her. Who the _hell_ was she to tell him he was _lucky._ Towering over her and fixing her with a look nothing short of disgust, he snarled his incensed response.

“Lucky? _Lucky_? You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you? You haven’t got the _foggiest_ idea, _Pansy._ Tell me what’s so lucky about losing Ginny? Or about losing my parents? Or how about losing my godfather? I could go on and on with the list, but you wouldn’t _care_ , Parkinson, because _you_ don’t have that problem, do you? Your only problem is that Malfoy just _might_ not love you anymore after _you_ saved your own skin by turning him in!”

Her response was so fast it took him a second to register the burning sting of her hand imprint on his left cheek. She turned on her heel and didn’t spare him another glance. It was worse to see her walk away than hear her shouting at him, and he was shocked to find he felt a pinch of guilt. He went after her and caught her arm, causing her to wheel around, and he pinned her to the wall, effectively stilling her struggles.

“Let. Me. Go.” Pansy’s eyes flashed dangerously as he stared down at her.

_“No.”_ He kept her hands pinned against the wall and pressed closer to her. She stared at him with her large brown eyes and something within him snapped. He claimed her mouth with his, deftly sweeping his tongue against hers as she gasped in surprise. A groan from deep inside of him surfaced. She tasted so sweet.

_And then, he let go of her arms and buried his hands in her long, red hair, feeling how soft it was. She was kissing him back so eagerly, he thought he might die._

And then, excruciating pain swept through him as he sunk to his knees and reality came back to him. Pansy had kneed him in the groin and was staring down at him. Her eyes narrowed, anger radiating in her gaze. Yet the affect was diminished by the trembling of her fist, and he was suddenly struck with an understanding of her vulnerability. She shakily ran a hand through her hair, and took a calming breath.

Her lips looked swollen and he realised with horror that he had just forced himself on her: Harry Potter had just kissed Pansy Parkinson.

Pulling himself to his knees, Harry groaned, gasping for breath as he stared up at her. _Stupid move, Potter_ , he thought to himself as he struggled to stand. He watched as she backed away from him, wand in hand, eyes blazing, and a startling remembrance of Ginny’s eyes swam before him. The same fierce passion and determination that had won his heart was there. It should have made him angry, but there was something more in her gaze, something that made him feel sick to his stomach and weak in his knees further than any knee to the groin could have accomplished. 

Pansy looked vulnerable, but it wasn’t a vulnerability born out of fear for her safety. Despite his actions, his words, and his tone for the past ten weeks, Pansy seemed to trust him. No, the vulnerability was something more, something he had seen before in Ginny’s eyes, the first time she had allowed him to touch her in _that_ way. Pansy was wondering whether to trust him with more than her physical well-being, and the realization struck him like a ton of bricks. 

He had kissed her, a passion born of anger and frustration, reality dissipating until he was with _her,_ his Ginevra. But still it had affected him- she tasted differently, her skin felt different in his hands, her mouth, her lips, her tongue, so different. Yet what shocked him more than anything was the lack of revulsion he felt at this. She was Pansy Parkinson for fuck’s sake: Malfoy’s plaything, a woman after nothing but to save her own arse, who was to be loathed for any part she played in Ginny’s death.

“I’m not your whore, Potter.”

Her voice caught him off guard, and at first he had nearly missed her speaking. He tore his gaze from her lips, meeting her eyes as the waves of nausea dispersed.

“I am not some common slag, you son of a bitch,” she spat, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “You’ve spent the past two months with me, and yet you continue to see nothing beyond the girl you went to school with. I’m not that girl anymore,” she paused, her voice cracking ever so slightly as her wand wavered in his face.

He pulled himself to his feet, his gaze never leaving hers.

“I haven’t been that girl in a long time, and I have no intention of going back. _That_ is why I sought your protection. Draco, despite his many flaws, and in his own twisted way, loved me- no, _loves_ me. Perverse though it may be, it is love, but not one that I want. I’ve no way of proving myself to you if you refuse to believe what is in front of your own eyes, Harry,” she whispered.

“Parkinson, listen I-”

“No, don’t you Parkinson me, _Harry_ ,” she cried, pulling on her hair in out outburst of sheer pain and desperation. His mouth closed as he watched her, anguished and tormented, and for a moment, he wondered what Pansy Parkinson had been through in the years since he had defeated Voldemort. 

“My name is Pansy; use it and stop hiding. You’ve been hiding since she was killed, hiding from the world, hiding from yourself, hiding from _her._ You blame yourself when you should be blaming Draco. I see it in your eyes, Harry! I see it when you look at me. You will _never_ allow yourself to move on, will you?” 

He took a step forward, laying his wand on the table as he walked toward her, not wanting to frighten her any further. Harry knew he had gone too far, but the strangest part was that he hadn’t realized for a long time now, that there was even such a line to cross anymore. Taking small steps, he crossed the room toward her, watching as her gaze flickered between his wand on the table and his empty hands.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he came to stand in front of her. “I just- sometimes, I can’t... You don’t understand what I’ve... I loved her, Pansy. I love her, and I want him to pay. I’ve waited for a long time for this. Part of me has wanted you to pay, but it’s not your fault. That’s not fair. I’m...”

She straightened, putting her finger to his lips to silence him. “I would give anything to bring her back for you, Harry. We shouldn’t both be this miserable in life. It’s not fair, But I can’t bring her back, and I certainly didn’t have anything to do with her death. Please, stop punishing yourself. Stop punishing me. I’m here, Harry. You’re here... _We’re_ here,” she trailed off, his lips swallowing the last of her sentence as she wound her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer to her.

He resisted at first, every instinct in his body fighting against the very notion of being even remotely attracted to Pansy Parkinson. But that _something_ that had been plaguing him since their fight five weeks ago had finally revealed itself to him. He realized, with a start, that for the first time in nearly eight years, he was genuinely attracted to someone other than Ginny, and the fact that it was Pansy Parkinson scared him.

Her hands were in his hair, under his shirt, scratching him, pulling him closer. It overwhelmed his senses. His brain stopped. He could think no more. All he could do was feel. Feel her nails trail down his back, causing pain which he welcomed at that moment. He was sure she’d leave marks but he didn’t care right then. He responded with much the same vigour, pushing her against the wall, all but ripping her shirt off her and touching her roughly. 

Neither of them spoke, as no words were needed so long as they found comfort in the other. It had been too long for both of them to actually _feel_ , not least feel _someone else_. Pansy deftly let her hands drop to his belt, undoing it swiftly. He helped her push his trousers off, not wasting any time, kissing her hard on her mouth as he bunched up her skirt and ripped her underwear in his haste. She gasped as the fabric was torn; a sound that fuelled his current state even more. 

With both hands on her arse, he lifted her up, using the wall as an anchor. She wrapped her legs around him and arched her back as he entered her with one forceful push. Pansy cried out at the sudden intrusion but didn’t stop him. Sweat was building on his forehead from the effort of keeping her up and thrusting into her roughly. He caught one of her nipples in his mouth, licking it and sucking hard. In turn, she bit and sucked on his shoulder, his neck, his ear.

It was all too much, and soon his movements became even more jagged and with a shout, he spilled deep into her, shuddering at the intensity of his orgasm. Breathing hard, he battled to keep her up and not let her drop. He disentangled their legs slowly, and as one, they dropped to the floor, clutching each other. He could feel her heart rate slowing as she held him close to her chest, and unable to hold it in any longer, he wept openly.

Harry was overwhelmed with the intensity of what had just happened. He fought the tears, but failed miserably. For the first time since Ginny’s death, he cried. He cried for her, for his lost love, for their life they’d never have. And Pansy let him. She held him close, stroked his hair and his back soothingly, and silently cried too. 

The hard wood floor didn’t offer much comfort to them, but neither cared. For the first time in years, for reasons incomprehensible to either, they felt safe. And soon, their silent tears ebbed and gave way to much needed sleep.

___________________________

  


It had been eight years since Harry had defeated Voldemort, and Ginny had been taken from him, five months since he had first moved into Pansy’s London flat with the intention of protecting her from her ex-lover, and almost three months since they had found the comfort they had spent all of their adult lives searching for. Those last eight years had been excruciating, tainted with a bitter longing for something irretrievably lost. The first half of the preceding five months had been little better. But, then something had changed. Harry felt alive again for the first time, and if he were completely honest with himself, he didn’t know how to react.

Life was mostly the same. He and Pansy still fought; she drove him mad and he made her want to scream. She cooked and he cleaned up. He followed her on errands, watching from a distance so as to maintain the illusion. He read the paper and she sat at his feet watching the telly. It was a state of existence unlike anything he had known without Ginny: Harry felt content.

Content was peaceful. Content was a lax awareness of your surroundings. Content was how he had felt the night Ginny died. Content was not good; it was dangerous.

“Pass the milk, please,” Pansy yawned from behind the morning paper. Harry growled, standing from his chair and walking into the living room. It was too comfortable.

“Harry?” Pansy called from the kitchen, her voice curious at his departure. “Harry, are you alright?”

The answer was that Harry did not know if he was alright or not. He was torn between knowing he had finally found something he was afraid to lose again, wanting to protect her for more reasons than simply that it was his job, and taking her away from here, someplace safe where she could not be harmed. As the days passed by, the anniversary of Ginny’s death grew closer, and his patience grew thinner. His frustration mounted, leaving him to pace anxiously as the long nights ticked away silently.

Where was Malfoy? And if he was truly coming back, why hadn’t he contacted Pansy yet? Harry had stayed out of sight, there was no way Malfoy could know he was following her. They were waiting, patiently, as long as it took, and Pansy was the bait. The very idea made him sick to his stomach; he felt as if he were waiting for everything to repeat again. He felt as if he would lose someone else he loved, and the realization that he had fallen for Pansy Parkinson confused him all the more.

He stared out the window, feeling her creep up behind him as he watched the young families walking together on the street. Children laughing as they held tightly to their parents’ hands, a light morning ruffling their hair- that was the life he had wanted, the life he should have had, the life that was taken from him. He closed his eyes, ignoring her as she placed her hand tentatively on his shoulder, knowing that she was looking at him with those eyes, begging him to drown in her gaze.

“It’s tomorrow, I know,” Pansy began hesitantly, and he knew she was trying to be sensitive. But he didn’t care. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped, and he felt her stiffen.

“Alright then,” she said simply, leaving him to return to the kitchen. He wanted to kick himself. She meant no harm, she had simply wanted to be there for him. She had wanted to show him she cared, to comfort and love him, but wasn’t that the problem? Those who loved him got hurt. They never survived. Was it fair for him to put her through this?

He listened as she bustled around the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and putting them away. A momentary wave of guilt crashed over him. He should apologize. But another thought crept over him first. Why _should_ he apologize? Harry was here because _her_ lover had killed his fiancée, and Harry wanted to make him pay. Was simple justice sufficient? Would Malfoy truly know the pain he had felt, watching as they took his Ginny, breaking her in body, mind, and spirit before killing her before his very eyes? He clenched his fist, feeling the coffee mug tight in his hand.

How dare Pansy Parkinson presume to know what he was going through? How dare she presume to understand, having the sense enough to leave him be in his grief? After all, wasn’t this partly her fault as well? Where was _she_ when they were sneaking into his home in the dead of night? Where was _she_ when they attacked him, binding him so that he had no choice but to watch as they raped and tortured Ginny over and over? Where was _she_?

The thoughts resurfaced with fury anew, and he whirled around, mug in hand, and threw it against the wall, watching as the ceramic shattered and fell to the floor. He watched through the pass-through as Pansy whirled around, wide eyed, jumping at the sound of the mug exploding.

“Harry! Are you mad? What is _wrong_ with you?” she cried out, rushing out of the kitchen to stare at him in open-mouthed disbelief. 

“What’s wrong with me?” he hissed, stalking closer to her as she bent down to pick up the pieces of ceramic. “What is wrong with me?” he shouted, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to her feet.

She pulled away from him, trying to free himself from his grip, but he would not release her. “Let go of me, Harry, you’re hurting me!” She wrenched her arm again, but he would not let go. “Stop it!” She cried out as his grip on her arm tightened. “Tell me what is wrong!”

Harry sneered, bringing his face to hers as he pulled her close, anger coursing through his veins. “Where were _you?_ ” he growled, watching her face as her expression contorted, waiting to see what truths might flicker across her features in response.

“Don’t, Harry.” Her voice was panic stricken, fuelling Harry on.

“Tell me, _Pansy._ Where the hell were _you_?” He shook her roughly, too caught up in the hatred he felt in that moment to notice her trembling from head to toe. She shook her head frantically, her eyes pleading with him not to make her speak of it. “You did _nothing_ to stop Malfoy. _Nothing!_ He killed Ginny! He _raped_ Ginny.” He shook her more vigorously, snarling at her, venom dripping from his voice.

Pansy couldn’t hold back the tears anymore and began to cry, yet refusing to look away from his livid face. Harry’s mind was clouded with the memories of Ginny’s torture, blinding him to the agony in Pansy’s expression as he pressured her to give him answers.

“I didn’t _know!_ ” she shouted at him, not bothering to stop her freely flowing tears. She slumped, repeating it over and over again like a mantra. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know!”

“Liar! How can you tell me you didn’t know? You fucking turned him in! Why didn’t you say something _before?_ ” He pushed her roughly and let go, causing her to fall to the floor, and began pacing the room lest he do something more physical to her. “Was it all a _game_ to you?” he demanded.

“He… after… I…,” she broke down into sobs, shaking and gasping for air as she pressed her fists into her eyes, shielding herself from something only she could see. Again, she shook her head, silently pleading with him. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, unable to regain composure.

Harry paced more, agitated from her crying and frustrated with himself. As he passed the sideboard, he angrily reached out and swept everything off it, shattering a delicate bowl holding sweets, scattering its contents all over the floor, and sending other trinkets flying in all directions. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear her out, wanted to hear her lies, her feebly constructed alibi that had saved her during the trial. He had not believed her then, and he still didn’t believe her now.

“He _what?_ _You_ what? Out with it, Parkinson. Fucking quit lying to me and _tell me_!” He was letting his guilt over not having saved Ginny turn into blind rage, demanding answers. Pansy’s sobs resided, anger and disgust flashing in her eyes.

“You want the truth, Harry?” she shouted back at him defiantly, although she looked as if she might be sick right there where she sat. “You’re _right._ Yes, you’re fucking right! I wasn’t at my parents’ house that night. It was a constructed alibi! I _lied._ ”

She flinched visibly when he punched the wall with his fist, shouting incoherently in his rage. Yet, she went on, her voice gaining strength with every word.

“I _lied_ because I couldn’t handle facing the truth! I swear I didn’t know what he was going to do. I swear to you I didn’t know he was going to kill Ginny before he fled!” Tears flowed over her face as she made to stand up, supported by the wall behind her. “I was at home, waiting for him to come back from a night out with his so-called _friends._ ” 

Harry resumed pacing and looked anywhere but her, unsure if he really wanted to hear what she had to say, unsure if he could trust her words. “It was late, very late when he finally came home. He was drunk and he…,” she paused, taking a few large gulps of air before she continued. “He began boasting of having got one better of The Boy Who Lived. He… he scared me. Oh my god.” A few loud sobs escaped as she pressed a fist into her mouth, biting down hard on her hand. 

Harry finally stopped pacing and looked at her. She was obviously distressed and scared. And _he_ had caused it. But no, not he himself. Malfoy was to blame. He made no attempts to calm her down and she continued shakily.

“Draco… he… he came to bed and started... touching me. He was drunk and I tried to stop him, but he was stronger, and then he…,” she stopped, squeezing her eyes shut and fisting both hands into her hair, pulling hard as if the physical pain would stop her memories. Inhaling sharply and shaking, she went on, whispering the rest to him. 

“And… and then, he said ‘See how I fuck you now? That’s how I fucked her, that little whore. In front of him before I killed her.’”

She sank back down to the floor, sobbing loudly, her body slumped in defeat.

Harry felt sick. Whatever he expected, this hadn’t been it. His anger was replaced with immense guilt because he never before stopped and asked her _why_ , because he never before considered that she might be genuinely on his side, because it had always been easier to blame _her_ than having nobody to blame but himself. It made him sick to know that he had caused her such pain, sick to know that he had such an attraction to her when only a day away was the anniversary of his beloved’s death.

He looked up and caught his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece by the fireplace. The face staring back disgusted him. He had to get away- away from Pansy, away from this place, from the truths and the lies that lay within. He pulled his wand and all but ran from the living room into the hallway.

Pansy looked after him in shock, not expecting him to run away from her. With strength she didn’t know she had, she called after him, “Harry!”

She could hear him undo the wards, frantically unlocking the front door. She got up and ran after him, trying to stop him from leaving her. Fear was evident in her face when she reached him just as he undid the last lock. He couldn’t look at her; he was too ashamed of himself for letting his rage control him and for hurting her. He wished he could just take her in her arms and tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t deserve to tell her it would be okay, because it wasn’t. _She_ didn’t deserve to hear it from him. She deserved better.

“Harry, don’t leave me. I’m so scared, don’t leave me.” She was crying again, or had she ever really stopped? It was too much for Harry, he had to get away. He simply turned and opened the door.

“Harry, I’m sorry! Don’t leave me, I love you…” Her voice trailed off as he turned on his heel and Disapparated. “I love you,” she repeated, whispering to no one.

It was hours later, just after midnight, when Harry Apparated back to the small alley next to Pansy’s flat. He had spent the majority of the day wandering the streets of London, his thoughts racing as he pounded the pavement. Harry had wanted answers, and he had pushed until he got them. But the answers he received hadn’t made anything better; they hadn’t set his mind to ease, they had ripped his heart open once more. Had she chosen to tell him the truth, he should have earned that trust. She had been brutalized, much like his own Ginny, but Malfoy had allowed Pansy to live, and so she had been forced to relive that experience over and over again.

Not knowing where else to go or who to turn to, Harry had gone to see Hermione and spent the last hours being lectured. He had gone to her for answers, answers for what he should do, and how he should fix this. But instead of giving him the answers he craved, she yelled at him, even cursed at him for being an egoistical, self-centred prat who was too blind to see what was right in front of him and who _should_ feel as guilty as he did. Realizing what he had done, Harry had leapt to his feet, startling Hermione as the chair fell backward behind him, and Disapparated on the spot.

He had left Pansy, unprotected, for nearly the full day. He, Harry Potter, the soon-to-be head of the fucking Auror Department had left her alone. It had been five months, and they had not seen even a glimpse of Malfoy, but it did not matter. He had left his post.

The worst part of it all, even worse than shouting, losing his temper, and physically assaulting the woman he loved was that she had begged him to stay, pleaded with him, cried out her love for him, and still, he had abandoned her. Pansy had shared her heart with him, and Harry had left it lying on the doorstep to be crushed in his wake. 

Love. The very thing that had been steadily given and then ripped away from him since the day he was born. It was a frightening notion and the very idea of allowing himself to be set up for such pain and agony again was terrifying. But it was worth it. She was worth it. She was nothing like the first love of his life, and yet at the same time, they were such similar creatures. If he could convince her to forgive him, Harry was willing to try and make it work.

Clutching his wand in hand, he stood in the alley, taking deep breaths beneath her bathroom window. He had considered bringing her flowers, but Pansy was not like most women, and such feeble sentiments would be scorned. He cocked his head, listening to the sounds from the window. He thought for a moment that he had heard a man’s voice from within her home but dismissed it when nothing further sounded.

 

He took it all in, let her anger wash over him and open his eyes. He had been so wrong about Pansy, so wrong in his behaviour towards her. So wrong to just up and leave without a second glance. Running a hand through his hair, he silently made his way to her front door. He was worried about her and wanted to apologize, to set things as they should be.

He arrived at her door and blinked, his hand gripping his wand tighter as his heart skipped a beat. The door was open, no wards remained to impede an intruder. Had he left it that way in his flight from her flat? The thought made him sick. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he cautiously edged his way into the flat. In eight years as an Auror, his instincts had never let him down, and if he could still trust them, something was off. 

He crept through the open door, into the familiar darkened surroundings as he peered through the dim light into the kitchen. It was empty, eerily quiet, and so he made his way into the living room. The telly was on, but Pansy was nowhere to be seen; the mess he had caused earlier was cleaned up and repaired. He relaxed, walking forward to turn off the set. She must have stormed out behind him, and he fought back the urge to curse her name. How stupid to leave the safety of her home without him, leaving the wards down, and wandering about unprotected!

He bent down to switch the button to ‘off’ when he heard a muffled noise coming from up the stairs. His hand froze above the button as he listened closely. A moment later it came again, accompanied by a loud thudding sound directly above his head. It was coming from the bedroom.

Harry crept quickly up the stairs, hardly daring to breathe for the sake of surprise. 

“No, please,” he heard her voice, muffled and breathy, as if she were trying to catch her breath through her tears. His heart stopped as he crept around the landing, listening to another familiar voice join Pansy’s. 

“No, please? No, please?!” the voice growled, and Harry heard another male voice chuckling in the background. “No, please is what I should be saying, love,” he spat, his voice cold and sneering. “No, please don’t take my heart and crush it under the sole of your foot,” he growled, his voice growing louder with every passing second. “No, please don’t tell me that I’ve risked life and limb to come and find you, only to find out that you’re in love with fucking Potter!” He was yelling now, a hard cold fury that nearly shook the walls, before his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “I fled, running for _years_ and spending every night dreaming of having you back with me. And when I return, what do I find?”

“I believe you found the woman you dragged us back here for pining for the man whose made our existence this miserable, Draco,” the other man quipped snidely.

Harry stood by the door, his brain working in overtime as he tried to figure out what to do. He was outnumbered, but they were distracted. It wouldn’t last for long, though. He recognized their voices instantly, and Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy were not to be trifled with lightly.

“No! No, Draco, I don’t- I never said I... It’s not what you think-” Harry resisted the urge to go running into the room as he heard a fist collide soundly with her face, her voice trailing off into a strangled cry. 

“How fucking _stupid_ do you think I am? I come to take you away with us, after following you for the past five months! I’ve been watching, and always he is there, following you, watching you.” His voice was dripping with disdain, and Harry’s blood ran cold. Malfoy had seen him.

“And we honestly believe he is following you to set a trap for us! Never could I have believed you were aware! Finally, I come for you and find you crying in the shower. Being the kind-hearted man I am, the man who loves you, I approach you gently. After all, I’ve been gone for so long now, I wouldn’t want to frighten my poor, lovesick Pansy, now would I?” Harry could hear the calm in Malfoy’s voice, sincerity only one truly deranged could have even attempted. 

“But whose name do you cry out when I call for you?”

Harry could hear her sobbing. He had done this; he had done this to her.

“Whose. Name. Did. You. Call?” Malfoy ground out and Harry could practically feel his fury radiating out of the room.

“Answer me, Pansy!” Another slap echoed off of the walls.

“Harry,” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it.

“What was that?” Zabini’s voice cut darkly through the room. “I didn’t quite catch that, Parkinson.”

“I said ‘Harry’,” she screamed, defiance ringing clearly in her voice. “I said ‘Harry’ then and I’ll say it again now, Draco. But it doesn’t matter! He’s gone, thanks to me. Thanks to you for fucking me up so much I couldn’t be normal if I tried! He’s gone!”

“Potter wants ‘normal’ then, does he?” Malfoy chuckled, and Harry clenched his fist as he crept closer to the doorway. “You were never normal, Pansy. I loved you. You were mine. You _are_ mine! I don’t have ordinary, plain, normal things! We’ll make this normal for him. I’ll treat you as we would normally, and then we’ll see what you’re wishing for. Potter ought to be used to this by now. If normal is what he wants, then normal is what he’ll get.”

Harry peeked around the door, evaluating the scene. Pansy was struggling, pressed against the bed, naked and still dripping wet from her shower. Zabini stood behind the bed, holding Pansy’s head flush against the mattress as tears streamed down her face.

“I hate you,” she whimpered, kicking at his legs as he lowered his zipper.

“The feeling’s mutual, love,” he spat, sneering down at her as Zabini chuckled. 

Not wasting any further time, Harry acted. He wasn’t about to let it happen again. He’d lost one woman he loved, and he’d be damned if he let Malfoy take the other. Stepping around the corner, he threw a stunning spell at Zabini, knocking him into the wall behind him where he lay unmoving.

“Get away from her,” he snarled, pointing his wand in Malfoy’s face. Malfoy’s wand was pointed at Pansy’s chest, a smirk playing across his lips as he glanced from Harry, to Zabini, to Pansy, and back again. “I said get away from her!” Harry screamed, thrusting his wand under Malfoy’s chin.

“I would, Potter,” Malfoy said as he pulled Pansy to stand in front of him, one hand pointing the wand at her temple now, as the other ran lightly across her bare skin, skimming her breasts and coming to rest on the flesh of her stomach. “But, you seem to be misinformed about a few things,” he quipped, stepping backwards, Pansy in tow as he forced Harry to follow along.

“I’m not fucking playing with you, Malfoy. Give her to me now, or I _will_ kill you where you stand. 

Malfoy chuckled softly, running his tongue along Pansy’s jaw line before biting her ear. “But unfortunately, Potter, I don’t want to, and you missed something... as usual.”

Harry saw Pansy’s eyes widening as she screamed out his name, but it was too late. The spell hit him in the side as he fell, immobilized, to the ground, staring up into the face of Gregory Goyle, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. 

“I warned you, Potter,” Malfoy quipped above Pansy’s cries. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?” Goyle chuckled along with Malfoy, who cast a quick _Ennervate_ on Zabini who leapt to his feet to attack Harry, but Malfoy stopped him. 

“No! Don’t Blaise,” he sneered, with a gleam in his eyes. “We want him good and awake so he can watch. He didn’t learn his lesson, maybe he needs a refresher…” He tossed Pansy back onto the bed, and Zabini returned to hold her in place. 

Pansy struggled, crying and pleading with her former lover. She managed to kick his leg and was rewarded with a hard slap across the face. Malfoy stood, and together with Zabini, moved her around, binding her to the bedposts with invisible ties, and laughing all the while.

“Can you see, _Potter?_ I will always win. I always get what I want. Pansy’s _mine_ and _mine alone._ ” He silenced her with another wave of his wand and roughly grabbed her hips, stilling her as his fingers dug into her flesh, leaving bruises. “I’ll show you what happens to those who disobey. Wasn’t I always good to you, my love? Wasn’t I?” He leered over to Harry as he undid the rest of his zip and his belt. “Watch, Potter. And learn.” 

Harry struggled to regain the use of his limbs, but all he could do was watch in horror as Malfoy moved over her. He wanted to scream, to cry, to hit Malfoy, to _kill_ the bastard who had done this first to Ginny, then to Pansy. Unable to move, or even blink, he tried to think of as many spells as he could, hoping the non-verbal magic would help. But nothing happened. Pansy struggled against Malfoy, and he slapped her hard, shouting at her to hold still. When she didn’t cooperate, he pointed his wand at Harry.

“CRUCIO!” he roared, and Harry’s mouth open in a silent scream, unable to utter a sound as every nerve in his body was set on fire. He could hear Pansy screaming, begging Malfoy to stop, but the pain continued.

“You will let me have you or he’ll die. What will it be, Pansy, _my love_?” 

She visibly sagged and stilled, silent sobs racking her body as Malfoy smiled, winking at Harry before crushing Pansy’s mouth beneath his own. Harry’s horror multiplied as he fought the after-effects of the curse, willing her not to give herself to him, knowing Malfoy would dispose of them both, no matter what. 

Desperate, he repeated the same spell over and over in his head like a mantra, and his heart stopped when a red light flew towards Malfoy, stopping him at the last second as he fell to the floor, immobile. Zabini whirled around but was hit a split second later with yet another red light. Somewhere behind him, a loud thud indicated that another person had fallen. Harry could only hope it was Goyle.

His binding lifted moments after the thud, and he jumped up from the floor, bumping into Ron, who cursed loudly. Two more female Aurors entered the room- Hannah immediately tending to Pansy, untying her before offering her the throw from the bed to cover herself with, the other disarming both Ron and Harry in one fell swoop. 

“What the hell?” Ron shouted at her. “What are you _doing_ , Audrey?”

“Not letting you _kill_ Malfoy, that’s what. D’you really think I want that mess on _my_ shift?” she shouted back just as loudly. Ron argued back and Harry joined in until he heard Pansy’s voice, light and fragile, but determined none the less.

“Harry, please don’t.” He rushed over to her, embracing her shaking form in his arms. He held her tight to him, whispering into her ear, apologising for his stupidity, and expressing his wish to kill Malfoy. _He doesn’t deserve to live!_

“Don’t, please. I beg you, don’t be like him. You’re _nothing_ like him, Harry. You’re _good._ _You_ don’t deserve to live with committing a murder. Please…” she begged him with her words and her eyes, tears streaming as she spoke. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Ron kicked the bedpost hard, then thought better of it and kicked Malfoy. His colleagues were fast in reminding him that they could stun him also if he didn’t stop. He looked up at Harry, who shook his head, and with a frustrated growl he left the room, leaving the women to secure the criminals and send them to Headquarters by portkey.

An hour later, Harry walked slowly through the house, locking and re-warding the doors before returning upstairs to Pansy. The bed sheets had been stripped and were lying discarded in a pile in the corner of the room. She was sitting on the floor, clothed in a robe, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her forehead propped against her knees, her body shaking violently.

“Pansy,” he murmured, crossing the room to hold her, but she pulled away.

“Don’t, Harry,” she whispered, her voice muffled through the cloth as she swiped at her tears. “Just… just don’t touch me,” she hissed, pulling out of his reach. 

He stood still, arms at his side as he watched her. She looked so tiny, so weak, and he felt sick again- frustrated and furious. “I’m so sorry-”

“This is not your fault! He was waiting, he knew. He had been watching me for months. If it hadn’t been today, it would have been tomorrow, or the next day…. It would have happened, and I…” she trailed off looking lost as her eyes travelled the length of the room, avoiding his gaze at all costs. 

“Thank you,” she whispered finally. “Thank you for… for coming back.”

“Thank you?” He asked, thunderstruck. “Pansy, don’t thank me. I never should have left! I did this to you- I allowed this to happen again! I’d never be able to forgive myself if I hadn’t-”

“If what, Harry?” she asked, her voice trembling as she pulled the robe tighter around her quivering frame. “This doesn’t change anything” She spoke wearily, as if the very act of speaking was too much effort. “I understand, you came back because it was your job. I won’t let them punish you for leaving; I’ll tell them I sent you away, I’ll tell them that I kicked you out and refused further protection. You love her, I get it. Please, don’t feel obligated, I never should have-”

He silenced her immediately, leaning forward to draw her into his arms as he stood up from the ground. “No, Pansy,” he murmured. “I was wrong- wrong to leave, wrong to not call for backup and putting either of us in this position, wrong for saying the things I did, and for not saying the things I should have.” He groaned in frustration. “It has nothing to do with my _fucking_ job. You said something before I left, something that should have kept me from leaving you, something that I haven’t heard in a long time. It… _fuck!_ If I hadn’t gotten back here, hadn’t gotten the opportunity to tell you, I…”

“What?” she whispered, meeting his gaze for the first time since he had entered the room. 

“I love you,” he smiled shyly, running his finger along the back of her hand. “You drive me mad, and half the time I want to scream because you’re so infuriating, but I love you, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Pansy, I,” he paused in between kisses, trailing them across her lips, cheeks, nose and eyelids. “I don’t want _normal_ , I want you.”

“Harry?” She sniffled, burying her head against his chest.

“Yea, Pansy?”

“Take me away from here, please. I don’t want to be here ever again.”

With a nod, he took one last look around the room, holding her tightly to him and Disapparating, never to return.

___________________________

 

After the apprehension of Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Gregory Goyle, the Wizarding world rejoiced once again. The last of the known Death Eaters since Voldemort’s death had been captured and finally sent to serve their life sentence in Azkaban. It was as if the entire population could finally release a breath it had been holding for the past eight years.

Harry and Pansy left the Ministry of Magic, his arm wrapped around her shoulder as they headed home. She had been giving renewed testimony, detailing and describing any information she had on their activities, including Malfoy’s proud confessions about Ginny eight years before. The time had been exhausting, wearying and brutal, and now they wanted nothing more than to go home.

All of the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. Hermione had Floo-called Ron in a panic at the office when Harry left abruptly during their conversation, worried about Pansy having been alone and Harry’s mental state. _“Go and check on him, Ronald.”_ And so Ron had, taking Audrey and Hannah along on a gut feeling. It was lucky he had.

Walking through the front door of his house, Harry locked the door behind them, watching as Pansy made her way through the living room and into the bedroom. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It had been a difficult two months, and Pansy had been understandably distant, needing his physical proximity but declining any physical intimacy.

“HARRY!” Her voice cut through the house, and he sprinted through the living room toward the bedroom. Twisting the handle as he threw his weight against the door, he bounced off, realizing with a start that the door was locked. 

“Harry!” she called again, her voice sounding a bit further away. 

He tried to push the door open again but still it would not give.

“Harry?”

He panicked and pulled his wand, not knowing what else to do, and shouted “CONFRIGO!” The door flew off its hinges and landed with a thud in the middle of the room. Dashing through the dust and debris, he coughed, waving his hand through the air to clear it.

He heard her coughing and looked to his left, stopping mid-stride at the sight before him: Pansy, wearing a sexy, lacy underwear set, lying on the bed with a coy smile on her face.

“Well, I hadn’t expected you to, errr… blast the door off of its hinges, but it works,” she laughed, patting the bed next to her. Harry didn’t know if he should laugh, or cry, or shout at her for scaring him that way.

“You scared me, Pansy.” He let his eyes roam her body before looking back up at her. “Why did you lock the door?”

“I didn’t.” She looked as if she was hardly able to hold back full-scale laughter. “The door opens out. You should’ve just pulled, not pushed.” Her resolve wavered and she broke into fits of laughter- laughter that got out of hand and was contagious, finally releasing all the tension of the recent weeks. Harry stood, shaking his head and laughing with her. It took both several minutes to regain control again.

Pansy got up from her lying position and got on all fours, crawling across the large bed, cat-like, to retrieve her wand that she left on the opposite bedside table. Harry’s heart quickened at the sight before him. The luscious curves of her creamy skin shone brightly in contrast to the dark blue bra and panty set.

Harry had only eyes for her, vaguely realising that she cast cleaning and repairing charms on the door and the surrounding dusty areas. He was still standing rooted to his spot when she finished the task.

“Harry?” she laughed at his dumbfounded expression, and he came out of his trance, not failing to notice the slight tremor in her voice.

“Yes,” he replied hoarsely. He mentally kicked himself for hesitating, but he wasn’t sure what to make of this situation. Did she really want this, _him_? 

She must have noticed his uncertainty as she sat up a little straighter and crossed her arms protectively over her chest, eyes cast down. She looked so vulnerable, so fragile, he felt a strange urge to go to her and hold her and reassure her. With two quick strides he was at her side, sitting next to her and pulling her against him

“Are you sure you’re ready, love?” He could feel her let out a breath. She nodded, looking up at him. All he could do was claim her lips with his own in a soft, almost chaste kiss. He traced the line of her jaw with one hand, then let it run through her long hair and down her back before settling on her hip. Almost automatically, he began tracing little circles on her warm skin, feeling exhilarated as she reacted with goose pimples and a low sigh.

He darted out his tongue, and she welcomed him with her own, deepening their kiss ever more, almost drowning in the taste of the other. Slowly, they lay back on the bed together, and Harry’s hand began to wander over her almost naked form. She relaxed at his touch, and he grew bolder, moving his hand over her bra, tweaking her nipple lightly.

The moans that escaped her sparked a desire in him that he had denied himself for a long time. He didn’t want to give in to any urges, didn’t want to pressure her in any way, especially not after what she had been through. If he was truly honest with himself, he had been waiting for her to make the first move. And although he was enjoying this new development, he had his doubts. _Was she really ready for this step?_

She broke the kiss to take his glasses off him and gently put them on the bedside table nearest to her.

“You’re far too dressed, Mr. Potter,” she purred at him playfully and made to undo his shirt buttons.

“Maybe you’re too undressed, Miss Parkinson,” he rasped in reply, fighting the urge to just rip his own clothes off and take her. Whatever conscience he had, whatever good intentions he had towards her and their newfound relationship, his body screamed at him to set a different pace. 

He found himself helping her, undoing his own belt and kicking his shoes off. She took it as a sign and hurried up with his buttons. Only moments later, his shirt was flung carelessly over the chair in the corner, his trousers and boxers somewhere next to the bed, resting on Pansy’s last shed garments. He didn’t spare his clothes a second thought until Pansy stopped his renewed kisses along her belly and up over her cleavage and her neck.

“What’s wrong, love? Am I going too fast?” He immediately let go of her, hoping he hadn’t done anything wrong and beginning to feel like a teenager with no experience again. She smiled at him and chuckled at his confused expression.

“No, but for Merlin’s sake, please take your socks off…” She let out a giggle, and Harry obliged her, loving the sound of her laugh, although it was aimed at him. Caught in the moment, he seized an opportunity to hear more of her amused laughter. He tickled her. 

“You think that’s funny, hm?” 

She shrieked with laughter and he joined her, rolling around on the bed and relishing the moment. But just as suddenly as it had come, it passed and with a jolt, Harry sat up and looked around, panicked, to locate his wand. 

“Harry… it’s okay, love. Your wand’s right here,” she told him, pointing to where she had put his wand when he undressed. “We’re safe now; he’s gone.”

Harry wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. There he was, supposed protector of Pansy Parkinson, now her boyfriend and lover, and top Auror to boot. And he lost his nerve before he could help himself. He forced a smile, trying to reassure Pansy, but he knew he couldn’t fool her. 

“I’ll never be truly relaxed,” he stated simply, as if that explained all that went on in his head.

“Want to bet on that?” she countered mischievously, though not quite as chipper as she’d been only seconds before. Harry raised an eyebrow at her as she smirked back at him, then stowed his wand within easy reach under his pillow. She turned back to him, facing him as they knelt in front of each other on the bed.

“So,” he said, “how exactly are you going to relax me?”

“Like this, maybe…” she trailed off, busying her lips otherwise as she planted a mixture of feather light kisses, small bites, and soothing licks down his chest and over his abdomen. She glanced up at his face and found him staring at her. He thought his heart would stop as he watched her going down on him. No matter what, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and although it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, he gasped and cursed loudly when she finally slid her soft, full, wet lips around his length.

“Pansy…,” he began, unable to continue the sentence or even string a coherent thought together. He steadied himself with his hands on her shoulders and without thinking, fisted her hair. He gently tugged on it, making her raise up to his level before claiming her mouth with his, their tongues dancing around each other. He wanted her so badly, yet he wanted to go slow, do it right by her.

Pansy, however appeared to have other ideas, scraping her nails down his front, lightly scraping over his nipples, through the dark hair on his chest and around his navel. And then she took hold of him, stroking him firmly and steadily while they kissed

He hissed in pleasure and shut his eyes, letting his head fall back. She seized the opportunity to kiss his neck more thoroughly, finally settling on his pulse point and sucking gently as she cupped his balls with one hand and continued to stroke him with the other. 

“Pansy, love… you’re-,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Shh, Harry. No talking, no thinking. I want this, I want mmh…,” she trailed off when he sneaked his hand around her backside and used his fingers to caress her already wet folds. Harry swallowed the rest of her moans in a hungry kiss, enjoying the warm, wet feel of her around his fingers. She arched her back a little and pushed him on his back then, straddling him and leaning over his larger form. Harry tried to reverse their positions, but Pansy wouldn’t have any of it. 

She held her weight off of him on her hands on either side of his head, letting her dark, silky hair tickle his chest and face. As she leaned down to kiss him, she murmured against his lips, “I want this. I want you. But I need to be-,” she paused, looking at Harry imploringly. He met her gaze questioningly. 

“Need to be what, love?” he whispered, not breaking eye contact. “Tell me.”

She looked away and buried her head in the crook of his neck. He put his arms around her, running his hands along her back and through her hair. When she spoke again, it was so softly he almost thought he’d imagined her voice. “I… I love you. And I trust you. I really do, but… But tonight, I need to be on top. In control. I know, it sounds awful, but-” 

She didn’t have the chance to finish. Harry pushed the hair from her face and shushed her gently. He sought her eyes out with his own and hoped that she’d understand the sincerity in his next words. 

“I understand.”

It was all that needed to be said. Their kissing resumed, hands roaming, tongues and fingers exploring. Harry thought he might die from the intense feeling when Pansy raised herself up over him and then slid down on his erection, taking him deep inside her, clenching around him. It didn’t take long for them to find their rhythm, thrusting, slowly and deliberately, bringing each other to the brink of completion. 

Harry helped her, his hands steadying her hips as she rose and fell in a steady pace. Her skin was covered in small sweaty beads, and he very nearly came instantly when she grinned at him, licked her own fingers and began teasing her nipples. Harry thrust up into her harder than before and she appeared to welcome the change.

He was close, knowing he could not hold out much longer. Pansy was close, too, he could tell- her moans becoming louder and breathier. But that was his undoing. The knowledge of her nearing the edge of her orgasm, that he was causing it, overwhelmed him. Almost hastily, he licked his thumb and then rubbed her in just the right spot, making her gasp out loud. He rubbed faster and screwed his eyes shut in concentration, willing himself not to let go just yet. 

His efforts were short lived, as she shouted his name and clenched around him when her own orgasm overtook her. He did his best to continue with his ministrations but his smooth movements became jerky as stars and firework of all colours exploded behind his eyelids and he came with a loud grunt.

Pansy collapsed on top of him, her breathing slowly regaining control, and he held her tightly to him. Against his will, his thoughts drifted to Ginny. But instead of making him feel miserable, he felt content. 

_Ginny, I will always love you. I will never forget you. But I understand now. I know you want me to be happy again. I would’ve wanted the same for you._

Harry held Pansy a little tighter as he blinked away the tears that were threatening. Yes, he would never forget his first, true love. But that didn’t make him love the woman in his arms any less.

Ginny would always be remembered. And yet, Harry Potter had finally moved on.


End file.
